jews d
in
the
Because We Care
SPRING INTO
ACTION!
Join us
Sunday May 21st
1-3pm
Help older adults in our
community get their yards
looking great for the
spring and summer.
Open to bar/bat mitzvah students and
their family and friends!
Register online at
jfsdetroit.org/becausewecare
Be
ca
28
May 4 • 2017
jn
re
or contact the
Youth Initiative Coordinator
248.592.2264
u s e We C
a
essay
continued from page 26
strangers, was heart-wrenching. I can
only imagine what it must have been
like for my grandparents to give away
their precious children to strangers at
a time of war in the hopes that they
might survive. They told their skinny
little 15-year-old girl to count on it
being six months, an eternity for my
mother.
In the middle of the night of Oct.
3, 1942, after she put on nine layers
of clothing and ripped off her yellow
star, Gerard van Angelen put her on
the back of his bicycle, peddled her to
the Waal, and took her in a row boat
across the river near Haaften, where
Krijn de Kock placed her on the back
of his bicycle and took her to “Pella,”
their farm. There she would spend
the next two years and seven months.
For the rest of her life, she observed
Oct. 3 as a somber day of fasting and
mourning.
With great fortune, however, the de
Kock family was warm, welcoming,
empathetic, kind and loving. They
made my mother feel like one of their
family. They called her “sus [sister].”
The mayor of Haaften, Johan, pre-
pared a false identity card, giving her
the name Johanna de Kock. She was
the youngest of the six de Kock chil-
dren and they all doted on her.
Though she could never leave
the house by day and could only go
outside late at night amongst the
trees to get some fresh air, she was,
nonetheless, fully integrated in family
life. If anyone came to the house, she
would be sure to be in the attic, and
one of the six children would be there
with her. She was never alone. They
purchased for her a spinning wheel
on which she made lots of yarn, then
knitted or crocheted it into gloves,
mittens, socks, scarfs, sweaters and
hats. This was how she filled her time.
As was common, when the
Germans needed housing, they would
expel families from their homes.
One day they came to evict the de
Kock family. But, after a conversa-
tion, it was agreed that the Nazis
would have complete use of the main
floor while the family moved to the
upstairs, with my mother hiding in the
attic. Those three weeks were full of
anxiety for everyone. Had my mother
been discovered, the whole family
would have been murdered. These
consequences were well known to
the de Kocks before they took in my
mother. But their deep faith in God
compelled them to take the risk. They
felt commanded by God to “welcome
the stranger,” to “provide for the less
fortunate,” “to shelter the homeless,” to
“protect the innocent,” “to keep faith
with those in need.” They took their
religion seriously and acted as they
believed God expected them to act.
After the war, a few days after May
4, 1945, my mother was reunited with
her family. Miraculously, all five had
survived, along with her Tante Hete,
but her grandmother and all of her
aunts and uncles and cousins were
murdered.
As I grew up, her story came out in
small snippets. We would ask some-
thing, she would respond until break-
ing down in tears and that was it until
next time. Over the years, we were
able to learn more and more, and ulti-
mately she was able to share her story
on videotape.
She spoke of her grandmother, and
how her father’s inability to convince
his mother to join them in hiding
haunted him the rest of his life. She
spoke of her cousins, her best friends,
who were “taken away.” Whenever we
traveled, wherever we traveled, she
would look in the phonebook for the
names of her cousins in the vain hope
that any had survived. She lived with
survivor’s remorse, asking, “Why did I
live when they all died?”
The silver lining was the de Kock
family. They and my mother and
family have remained close over the
years. Thirty-four years ago, the de
Kock family and Gerard van Angelen
were inducted into the Avenue of the
Righteous Gentiles on the moun-
tain of memory in Jerusalem at Yad
Vashem for their heroic bravery.
Twenty-nine years ago, members of
the de Kock and van Angelen families
attended my ordination in New York.
Six years ago, Edith was witness for
the wedding of the de Kock’s grand-
daughter, Krijna, to Bas Haghoort,
and I had the honor of co-officiating
the ceremony. Four years ago, Krijna
spoke at my mother’s funeral.
Fortunately, Edith died an old
woman, warm, in her own bed …
unlike most of her family who died
naked, screaming, on cold concrete
floors in poisonous gas chambers.
Mom shared that since age 14 she
felt she had been living on borrowed
time, and she was determined to
make the most and best of that bor-
rowed time.
The truth is, all of us are living on
borrowed time, and the more con-
scious we become of that, the richer
and more beautiful and more pre-
cious that time becomes.
Near the end of her life, after
cancer had spread to her lungs and
brain, she said to me, “I’ve had a
great life. You’ve had me a long time.
There is nothing to feel bad about.
You go and live your life; find happi-
ness. I love you.”•